


The Water Creeps To My Chest

by spockandawe



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Explicit Sexual Content, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 10:52:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15484155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: It’s the middle of the night, but you can’t sleep. Not unusual, but something tonight is— different. You’re restless. Pacing. It feels like you’re waiting for something, but you don’t know what. You can’t shake the feeling ofanticipation.Anticipation for what? Is this over finding a mnemosurgeon who could drag Windblade back into her own head?Please.Finally having some leverage over Elita? Securing your power base again? None of this adds up. There’s no reason for it, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’re waiting for something to happen.When you get the alert that someone’s at the door to your quarters, this late at night, you would have thought you’d be irritated. But you catch yourself smiling. Even before you bring up the feed from the security system, you know who this is going to be. You still take your time going to the door, typing the passcode into the access pad. The door opens, and you come face to face with Windblade.





	The Water Creeps To My Chest

**Author's Note:**

> To be clear, this is highly dubious consent because of significant mind control issues. Starscream and Windblade are not strictly themselves here. Take care of yourself and give this story a pass if you do badly with dubcon and mind control.
> 
> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/176423345851/the-water-creeps-to-my-chest-spockandawe-the)

It’s the middle of the night, but you can’t sleep. Not unusual, but something tonight is— different. You’re restless. Pacing. It feels like you’re waiting for something, but you don’t know what. You can’t shake the feeling of  _ anticipation. _ Anticipation for what? Is this over finding a mnemosurgeon who could drag Windblade back into her own head?  _ Please. _ Finally having some leverage over Elita? Securing your power base again? None of this adds up. There’s no reason for it, but you can’t shake the feeling that you’re waiting for something to happen.

When you get the alert that someone’s at the door to your quarters, this late at night, you would have thought you’d be irritated. But you catch yourself smiling. Even before you bring up the feed from the security system, you know who this is going to be. You still take your time going to the door, typing the passcode into the access pad. The door opens, and you come face to face with Windblade.

She starts to step forward the moment the door finishes opening, except you lean against the door frame, and your wing just  _ happens _ to block her way. She glares at you, there’s a smile breaking through the frown, a lazy, spreading smile that she isn’t bothering to hide.

You cross your arms and slowly look her up and down. “And what are you doing here?”

Her smile just gets wider and she takes a half-step closer to you. “Please. Even  _ you  _ can put the pieces together.”

It’s disorienting, after so long spent circling each other. Fighting and parrying. This was always going to be the way it ended— Did you always think that? Or have you just now realized it?

You’re not going to question it now, not when it feels so correct. The natural culmination of your acquaintance. Ever since meeting her you knew this would happen, didn’t you? You step aside, sweeping a bow. “My home is your home,” you say.

She laughs out loud, then, and you smile as well. She crosses the threshold, but doesn’t go any further, turning to stare into your optics. You can’t look away from her. Why would you want to? This is what you’ve always wanted, and you aren’t going to play any games denying it to yourself now.

Windblade moves to kiss you, pulling you down against her. The door slides shut and you turn to set her back against it, pinning her there, kissing her with all the heat and hunger you feel. She makes a pleased noise against your mouth, yielding and open for you.

When you pull away to look down at her, she reaches up with one hand to brush her thumb across your cheek. “So large,” she murmurs. “Were you always this tall?”

You laugh, and so does she, though it’s cut off from both of you when she drags you down into the kiss again.

You’re already running hot, your array aching behind your panel. You could overload here, like this, just grinding against her. But you don’t want this to be over quite so quickly. Instead, you slip a thigh between Windblade’s legs, leaning even harder in to the kiss, pressing your leg against her panel. She gasps, and you hear her fans notch faster. 

It only takes a nanoklik for her to recover, but then you can feel her grin against you, and she returns the favor and pushes her leg between yours. You don’t quite manage to bite back a moan at the feeling of her plating against your panel. She reaches to embrace you and pull you down harder against her, and you lean into her as you rock your hips against hers and kiss her, deep and hungry.

Windblade’s hands roam lazily over your plating, toying with your joints and vents without much intent. But then she makes her way to the base of your wings, and her fingers brush over a sensitive seam in your plating. You jerk against her, optics glitching out for a moment, and you have to fight to keep your panel closed. 

She breaks the kiss then, looking up at you with a smile that ought to make you nervous. She runs her fingers along the seam again, harder and more deliberate. You’re braced for it, you don’t make a noise or react in any obvious way, but she still laughs as though you had, plainly delighted. 

_ “Wings,”  _ she murmurs. “So exotic.”

It’s a struggle to get the words from your processor to your vocalizer while she’s tracing over and over that seam, but you manage, “As opposed to yours, of course.”

Windblade makes a dismissive noise. “I’ve been flying since I was forged. But  _ this—” _

Her hands drift away from that seam, out along the trailing edge of your wing, then back in towards your frame. You shiver, and deliberately dim your optics. You wouldn’t have thought you’d enjoy someone else touching your wings. You hadn’t thought you would, but— You’re happy to let her touch your wings if it feels this way.

Though that means you aren’t watching her closely enough to notice when she decides to return to the joint at the base of your wings and run her fingers along a cluster of sensory wires. You should— you should have been ready for that, that joint is always sensitive. You know that— Don’t you?

A question for later. For the moment, your attention is occupied by your array. Your panel opens before you even have a chance to override the impulse. Your spike pressurizes against Windblade’s leg, sliding against the warmth of her plating. Her thigh brushes against your node, the touch just light enough to be agonizing. You rock down into that contact, and you could overload this way, maybe you  _ want _ to overload this way—

Before you can decide, Windblade pushes you back from her. She follows you, taking two short steps away from the wall. You think you’re angry with her. You  _ are _ angry, you’re almost certain, but before you can be sure, she drops to her knees in front of you, her hands resting on your hips. She smiles up at you, and your valve aches for her. You aren’t angry, of course, you could never be truly angry with  _ Windblade. _

“My lord,” she says. 

Your spark gives a satisfied little pulse, that everything is as it should be. You wouldn’t have thought you’d want to see Windblade like this,  _ kneeling _ for you— Or at least you wouldn’t have thought you’d want it so  _ easily. _ But this, this is right. You can feel the pleasure spreading through you, warming your plating. When didn’t you want this from her? When didn’t she want to be yours in this way? From the start, both of you have wanted,  _ needed  _ this.

She reaches for your spike at first, her fingers running slow and teasing along it. But then she takes it in hand and holds it aside. She bends in, moving even more slowly now, her optics on your array. Your ventilations hitch as her mouth gets closer, almost touching your node. And she stops.

Windblade looks up, locking optics with you. She asks, “My lord?”

Your spark skips again, something that’s almost confusion and almost pleasure, though— no, it  _ has _ to be pleasure, why would it be anything else? This is pleasure and satisfaction and everything you expected from this encounter. From her. You manage to keep your voice steady when you reply, “Of course.”

Her mouth is on you then, and it drives everything else from your processor. You can’t think of anything else, don’t  _ want _ to think of anything else. There’s the gentle pressure of her hand still on your spike, but then there’s the movement of her lips against you, her tongue against your valve. She reaches around with her free hand to grab your aft and pull you tighter against her, and licks your array, slow and lingering.

You could overload— You  _ would _ overload if she would let you, this would be over quickly if you were setting the pace. But she knows you far too intimately to let you have your way so easily. She teases, pressing close and pulling back, building you towards a peak and letting you sink away again. You might almost be angry with her for denying you something you clearly want, but right now all you can feel is old, familiar fondness. If it truly bothered you, she would stop. But it doesn’t. You’re enjoying this just as much as she is.

Every time she teases you close to overload, you think that this is it, finally— Until she draws away and lets you sink down again. You float in that space, your hands on her helm, but not guiding her, letting her set the pace and do as she wants with you. Or, that’s how it is until she pulls back— And then pulls back even more, not just withdrawing a little but moving  _ away,  _ and you ought to be embarrassed at how you grab at her helm, refusing to let her go too far.

She tilts her head to look up at you again. Without her mouth on you, you can feel how hot your frame is running, all the hot air your fans are pouring off. Windblade smiles up at you, satisfaction clear in her face. Some distant corner of your mind wonders if you should be bothered, allowing her to see you undone in this way. But no, not  _ her.  _ You’ve known and trusted each other for far too long to think something like that would be an issue.

Windblade waits as you look down at her, still smiling. After a few nanokliks she says, “I want you…  _ in  _ me.”

_ That _ surprises a laugh out of you before you can help herself, and the way Windblade grins now is definitely tinged with self-satisfaction. 

“And how do you want me?”

“Right here,” she says, shifting back to sit on the floor. “Just like this. I’ve been waiting too long to be patient for anything else.”

“Fair enough,” you reply, still amused.

Her panel is still closed, though you don’t know how she’s managed that. She spreads her legs, pressing a hand against it, rubbing her fingers against the metal and pressing them against the seams. Even separated, you can still hear how loudly her fans are running. She’s watching you as you watch her, biting her lip as she touches herself.

There’s static in her voice when she says, “Go ahead.”

You don’t need any more encouragement than that. You go to your knees, pressing forward between her legs, lifting her hips up onto your lap. Her panel does open then, her spike pressurizing between you. Her node is glowing bright, and for a moment you’re tempted to get your mouth on her, but— no, there will be time for that later. For now, you satisfy yourself by sliding two fingers into her valve and feeling the way she arches under you, her optics flaring and her vocalizer glitching out.

“Still— not used to you being so  _ large,”  _ she manages.

“I’m still not used to you being so small,” you say, pressing your thumb to her node. “But I have to say that I am enjoying the experience.”

She laughs, voice still choked with static, and says,  _ “Please.” _

There’s no reason not to indulge her, and you’ve been ready to overload almost from the start of this encounter. You steady her with one hand and take your spike in the other, and press forward. You can feel her shiver under you as your spike slides into her valve, and she reaches up to clutch at your shoulders, trying to pull you even closer.

You let her. You shift forward, bracing yourself over her, and begin to  _ move. _

Windblade bends almost double as you drive into her, and she laughs again. “Flexible! I didn’t expect—”

She loses the rest of the sentence in a moan as you move against her, wrapping her legs around your waist and still holding tight to you. You aren’t going to last long. You almost wish you could, wish you could draw this out for the rest of the night, but— No, you’re close to overload, and you think Windblade is too.

You watch her face as your charge builds. She watches you too, though her optics glitch in and out, and you’re not sure she could speak if she tried.

She wants to, though. You know her well enough to see her trying to collect her focus, pull her attention to some point, though you don’t know what more she would want right now. She takes one hand from where she was clinging to your plating and moves it to cup the side of your helm for a moment, then drops it to press her palm over your spark.

Loud and clear, she says, “My Prime.”

You feel sick. You’re overloading, you’re basking in pure satisfaction and pleasure, and you want to purge your tanks and fly away from Iacon into the wastes and to never come back. You want to leave this planet, you never want to see another Cybertronian again, and you’re practically purring with how delighted you are right now. You and Windblade are pressed tight together, and she called you her Prime and it’s the worst thing anyone could have possibly said to you and why are you  _ overloading? _ You want to stop, you want to leave, you want anything but this, but all you can do is lie here and slump over her as she overloads beneath you, and you want to  _ leave,  _ and you want her to say it again.

Both of you lie together like that for a long moment, even after the last aftershocks leave you, just basking in the warmth and closeness. Your fans are still pouring out hot air, and so are hers, but you don’t want to pull away from her. And you want to run. You want to run and never come back, but you can feel the urge receding as the nanoklik slowly pass.

After some time, she tilts her head to look you in the optics, and says again, even more definite and firm,  _ “My Prime.” _

Now, the satisfaction overwhelms the nausea, enough that you can ignore it and just savor the pleasure. Now, you can reach down and touch the side of her helm, and say, “Loyal to the end and back.”

She smiles, turning her face into your hand, her optics going dim. 

After a moment, she sighs, and says, “I don’t want to leave.”

Understandable, really. Especially after so long apart. “You don’t have to,” you say. “We still have the rest of the night.”

She laughs. “More than that.”

“The rest of the year? Century?” Your voice is tinged with self-satisfaction, but you think you’ve earned it at this point. You look down at her, her head still turned into your hand, still smiling. Still  _ yours,  _ despite everything. “And now we have an entire planet.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/176423345851/the-water-creeps-to-my-chest-spockandawe-the)


End file.
